Beginnings
by Emmeebee
Summary: Travelling to Verona to meet her boyfriend's parents for the first time, Lucy is hoping to make a good first impression. But as the day wears on, that seems to be increasingly less likely.


A/N: Written by Chaser 1 of Montrose Magpies for the QLFC final.

Prompt: (scenario) Character A meets Character B's parents for the first time. Character A tries too hard to impress them.

Optional prompts: (object) piano; (dialogue) 'This is delicious!'; (first line) She opened her handbag and tipped the contents onto the floor.

Word count: 2791

Thank you so much to Emiliya Wolfe and The Lady Rogue for betaing this.

Also for the Build a Zoo Challenge with the prompt 'musical'.

* * *

_Verona_

Lucy opened her handbag and tipped the contents onto the floor. Her purse, hygiene products, and house keys all spilled out, as well as a bunch of miscellaneous papers and pens. They slid across the immaculately polished wood in her haste.

All around her, people passing by were shooting her unimpressed scowls. No wonder; between her discount dress, her cross-legged position on the floor, and the mess surrounding her, she hardly looked as sophisticated or refined as the other theatregoers. To them, no doubt, she looked like a little kid trying on her mother's makeup: cute, but in way over her head.

Her cheeks burnt as hot as any fire she had ever conjured in Charms. She bit her lip, wishing she had worn her hair down; that would have given her some cover, at least. As it was, there was no way Keegan's parents wouldn't notice her blush — like all of her family, there was no hiding how red she went when she was embarrassed.

'I brought them with me; I swear,' she insisted, starting to ruffle through the papers on the floor. 'I double-checked this morning.'

'It's alright. It happens to the best of us,' Mr Zabini said, although his reassuring words were belied by the hint of impatience that laced his voice.

Keegan crouched down beside her. 'Can I help?' he asked, his voice soft.

Lucy shook her head; she had to do this by herself. What would Mr and Mrs Zabini think if their son had to swoop in to help her? It wouldn't leave the kind of first impression she was after; that was for sure.

'Thank you, though,' she added. 'I appreciate the offer.'

He hesitated before nodding. 'Don't stress,' he told her for the fifth time that morning as he rose to his feet.

That was easy for him to say. When she'd introduced him to _her _parents, they had immediately welcomed him.

Afterwards, she'd asked them why they liked him, looking for tips on how to impress his parents, and her dad had told her that it was because they trusted her judgement. Unfortunately, as touching as that was, it didn't help her here.

His parents, it seemed, were harder to convince.

Her fingers brushed over something that was thicker than the others, and with a triumphant smile, she pulled out the envelope that contained the missing tickets. It was a little rumpled from her search but otherwise unharmed. 'I found them!'

She shoved everything away again and scrambled to her feet. 'I'm so sorry for the hassle,' she said, hoping her sincerity came through in her voice. 'I'm not usually like this at all.'

They all offered her words of reassurance, of course, but she couldn't help but feel that they were fake. As the group entered the theatre, tickets now in hand, Lucy prayed that the rest of the day went better than it had started.

-x-

They left the theatre a few hours later, Lucy's heels clicking against the cobblestone path as she tried not to teeter. Her feet were sore from the tight footwear, and her head was starting to pound from the weight of her long hair twisted up tightly against her head. Since they had to walk through Muggle Verona to reach the restaurant Mrs Zabini had selected for lunch, she wouldn't be able to cast a healing spell for a while yet.

'The return of Leif's motif at the end was beautiful,' Mr Zabini was saying as Mrs Zabini nodded along. 'Subtle, but effective.'

Keegan glanced over at Lucy as if to encourage her to reply. Usually, she would have been all over it, gushing about what the motif represented and the role each instrument played in creating that effect. Today, however, she couldn't even form a halfway intelligent response.

The whole time they'd been in there, she'd been so focused on what Mr and Mrs Zabini were thinking about her that she hadn't had enough mental space to appreciate the musical to the extent she usually would. She'd tapped her fingers against her thigh to the beat and fought back tears at the emotional number, yet she could barely recall anything other than the general narrative.

To her relief, however, Mr and Mrs Zabini seemed to have enjoyed the musical; since Lucy had been the one to suggest it, she considered that a win. Unfortunately, it was clear that their feelings about _her _hadn't changed much; if anything, the more she tried to engage them at intermission, the more exasperated they seemed to become, even if they tried to hide it under a veil of politeness.

Keegan slipped his hand into hers. 'Almost there,' he whispered, giving her hand a squeeze.

-x-

'You can do this,' Lucy said, staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. After they'd ordered, she'd excused herself to relieve her headache, taking the opportunity to also have a few moments to herself. 'You're clever, pretty, and reasonably cultured. You can turn this around.'

Unfortunately, as they entered the restaurant, Mrs Zabini had mentioned that her family reunion was the next day. Keegan had asked Lucy to attend, and Mr Zabini had invited her to stay at their house overnight. Before her mind could catch up with her mouth, she'd found herself accepting the offer.

Part of her was pleased that she would have more time to impress them, but the other half was exhausted. In one moment, her half-day commitment had quadrupled in length, going from a sprint to a marathon. Somehow, she'd have to find the stamina to pull through.

'Dig deep,' she muttered, remembering her cousin Rose's favourite catchphrase.

Knowing that returning to the restaurant would only get harder as time wore on, she adjusted the strap of her handbag and walked back out, weaving through the other tables until she reached hers.

It must have taken longer to psych herself up than she'd thought; the appetisers had already arrived. Settling into her seat, she picked up one of the bacon-wrapped jalapenos they'd ordered and bit into it. Flavour exploded in her mouth, and she closed her eyes for a moment.

Things were looking up already.

'This is delicious!' she exclaimed. 'Have you tried one, Mrs Zabini?'

'Thank you, but I'm a pescetarian,' Mrs Zabini said.

'Oh.' Not sure what that meant, Lucy frowned. Was it some kind of rare illness? 'I'm… sorry?'

Mrs Zabini smiled. 'It's quite alright. It just means that I choose not to eat any meat except fish.'

'That's fascinating,' Lucy said, leaning forward in her chair the way she always did when she was confronted with new information. 'Is that for medical reasons or personal ones?'

'Moral. I'm planning on becoming a vegetarian, but it's a bit of a process, I'm afraid. I'm more likely to stick with it if I do it in stages.'

Lucy nodded. 'That makes sense. I read somewhere that it takes several months to make a new habit. How long have you been a pescetarian for?'

'Almost three months.' Mrs Zabini tilted her head. 'Are you interested in becoming one?'

'Oh, no.' Lucy laughed. 'Absolutely not. I don't know if I'd survive at Weasley family gatherings if I didn't eat meat.'

The next moment, her eyes widened as she realised what she'd said. Things had finally been looking up, and she'd had to ruin it by coming across as if she was dismissing Mrs Zabini's life choices.

'That came out wrong,' she said, her cheeks hot. If she had a time turner, she would have gone back to the bathroom and stopped herself from coming out, laws and concerns about unintended consequences be damned. Pretending to be ill would have been better than this. 'I didn't mean… I would love some recipes, though!'

To her surprise, Mrs Zabini burst into laughter — the sound was warmer and more welcoming than anything Lucy had heard from her that day. 'Your Hufflepuff is showing, dear. Trust me; it takes more than that to offend me.'

'Besides,' Keegan said, 'having eaten with your family, you have a point, Luce.'

-x-

Lucy stared up at the bedroom ceiling. The moonlight streaming in through the open window made it appear blue-grey. Next to her, Keegan was sleeping, his quiet snores mingling with the chirping of the crickets outside. The combination should have been calming — it was her nightly lullaby, after all.

But today, all it did was make her even more frustrated. The world was asleep and everything was as it should be, except for Lucy and her spiralling thoughts. Knowing that she was, most likely, the only person awake in the house made her feel like even more of an outsider.

The afternoon and evening had passed in much the same way as the morning: Lucy tried her best to impress Keegan's parents; Lucy put her foot in her mouth; they said something that was polite but never truly _engaged_. Exhausted and disheartened, Lucy had retired to bed early. Keegan had followed her upstairs to reassure her, his face the picture of concern, but she'd insisted that he rejoin his parents, stating that she needed some rest and would talk about it the next day.

She'd hoped to be asleep by the time Keegan returned. Now, taking in the unfamiliar room, she couldn't help but wonder whether she'd get to sleep at all.

Maybe she would fare better if she walked around for a bit or had something to eat.

Sighing, she climbed out of bed and pulled on her fluffy dressing gown, tying the belt tight so she didn't have to worry about it coming loose. Then, she made her way downstairs, using her wand to light the way.

The house, which had seemed so large and cold in the daytime, looked almost spooky at night. The dim yellow light of her spell cast shadows over the walls and floor, making it feel like something was about to jump out at her at any moment.

Lucy picked up her pace. Rationally, she knew that it was just her mind playing tricks on her — her sister would have called it a manifestation of her subconscious mind. Still, the sooner she reached her destination, the better, as far as she was concerned.

She was about to enter the kitchen when she caught sight of something in the corner of her eye. Her breath catching in her throat, she took a step into a side room — the door had been shut earlier — so that she could see it more clearly.

A piano.

Calling it 'a' anything seemed like an understatement. Not even caring about secrecy anymore, she lit the torches hanging around the room and extinguished her wandlight.

It was gorgeous, its black exterior sleek and so polished that it shined. A metronome sat atop it, alongside a photograph of three people — a woman with grey hair, a younger Mrs Zabini, and what could only be Keegan as a baby. They were sitting at the very piano in front of her, all three of them with their hands resting on the keys and broad smiles on their faces.

Turning, she took stock of the rest of the room. There was a glass display cabinet, which featured more photographs and other knick-knacks, and a bookshelf that contained what appeared to be books and folders of sheet music.

This must have been Keegan's late grandmother's piano. Once he'd realised that Lucy was interested in music, he'd told her all about the woman and her love of classical music. None of her children or grandchildren had inherited her skill, but they appreciated the beauty of the instrument and the memories that accompanied it.

Instinctively, Lucy opened the protective cover, her fingers itching to play. The only thing that kept her from doing so was the fear that it would displease the Zabinis even further.

'You like to play?' a soft, sleep-cracked voice asked from behind her.

Lucy spun around, her heart constricting guiltily in her chest. 'I'm so sorry, Mrs Zabini,' she said as she came face-to-face with the woman. 'I know I shouldn't have been wandering… and I know how important this room must be to you...'

Mrs Zabini tilted her head, eyeing her thoughtfully. 'Keegan talked to you about his grandmother?'

'Not much, but a little.' Lucy smiled, her tiredness loosening her tongue. 'It's clear that she meant a lot to him. He said his favourite thing to do as a child was to sit on the floor and listen to her play Rachmaninoff.'

'Mum always liked how expressive his music was.' Mrs Zabini walked forward and picked up the photograph from the lid of the piano. 'I didn't think Keegan would have told you about Mum. We're all very private about her. She was a Muggle, you see. The first time Keegan talked about her at school, the other boy made a snide remark, and they both ended up in the hospital wing.'

'I remember that,' Lucy said. It had been during their first year at Hogwarts. She and Keegan had been friendly enough back then, but they hadn't really known each other yet. 'He never said why he threw the first punch, just that Morrison had it coming.'

Mrs Zabini nodded. 'That sort of prejudice is more common in my generation, of course. So we all find it easier to just… keep her memory to ourselves. No one can touch it there.'

'I understand. Nobody in my family likes talking about my Uncle Fred much, either.' At first, she'd thought it was weird, assuming that if they didn't talk about him, it meant they didn't care. Over time, however, she'd come to understand it. 'Dad said that sometimes, the most important things are the ones that are the hardest to say.'

'Indeed.' With a sigh, Mrs Zabini set the photograph back down again, making sure it was steady before removing her hands. 'Keegan said we've been making you feel unwelcome. If that's the case, I apologise; it was never our intention.'

Not wanting to be a bother, Lucy shook her head. 'It's alright.'

'No, it really isn't. It's just… you're both so young.'

'I'm almost nineteen,' Lucy protested.

Mrs Zabini's lips quirked upwards. 'And yet you still call me Mrs Zabini. I'm not talking about physical age, Lucy. By the time I was nineteen, I knew what it was like to be plagued by war. It taught Blaise and me to value what we had and hold onto what we valued. To us, you and Keegan are both babies.'

'You think we're too young to know what we want?' Lucy asked, her frustration from earlier boiling into indignant anger. 'I know I want to be a composer one day. I know I want to be with Keegan. I know I want to travel and hear music from every part of the world. That's not fake.'

'Knowing what you want is one thing. Knowing how to hold onto it when it feels like everything around you is trying to tear it from your grasp?' Mrs Zabini shrugged. 'That's harder.'

'I will never understand how traumatic the war was for the people that lived it, but that doesn't mean I don't know how to persevere.' As she eyed the older woman, wondering how to make her _see_, Lucy saw through the veneer of what she was saying to see the fear that hid behind it. Softly, she said, 'And it doesn't mean I'm going to hurt your son.'

Mrs Zabini was quiet for a moment, watching her speculatively. 'You know, Keegan was right.' She walked over to the bookshelf and pulled out one of the books. Idly, she started flicking through it. 'He said you were nervous and that I'd like you if I had the chance to see you with your guard down.'

Lucy gaped at her. 'I… what?'

'Maybe you should start calling me Tracey.'

'I…' Had Lucy heard her correctly? Had she just received the stamp of approval from Keegan's mother?

'Here.' Mrs Zabini — _Tracey _— opened the music rack and set the book down on it. It was open to a piece by Bach that Lucy had learned the year before. 'I think you might like this one.'

It was tempting to ask whether she was sure, but Lucy held her tongue. Keegan's parents wanted her to be bolder — more confident.

She could do that.

Lucy sat down. Taking note of the sharps, flats, and rhythm, she moved her fingers to their starting positions. It felt like coming home.

She and Keegan might be young, but that wasn't a bad thing. All it meant was that their song was only just beginning.


End file.
